The Red Gold of my Heart
by kirana44
Summary: He had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time the world would see him. So why was he afraid? Dustfinger-centric oneshot. Spoilers for the end of Inkspell.


**Authors Note:** AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

I absolutely **adore** the Inkheart Trilogy, for a huge number of reasons that I won't go into (you probably noticed when I used Inkheart to inspire "Sleeping Sun"). Through it all, Dustfinger was always my fave character, and I generally though he was hard-frigging-core. When he died, however, I was damn sad, even though I knew he was going to be brought back to life. Absolutely knew it. That chapter was still damn sad though. This fic is based on that damn chapter.

Dustfinger, Roxane and everyone else mentioned all belong to Cornelia Funke.

* * *

"Please, Meggie! Tell Roxane what I have told you – and say…say I'm sorry. Now, off you go," Dustfinger said, trying not to let on what he was thinking. The girl sat still for a moment, before caressing Farid's cold face one more time, getting up and stumbling through the galleries of the dead. He looked down at the dead boy once more, heart churning in a cold mixture of affection and sorrow, before setting out on his grim business. He knew what he had to do. Summon the White Women with fire and make an exchange – that's what he had to do. He knew he had to work quickly, for once Meggie delivers her message, he'll have lost his chance. So, calling fire to his fingertips with a phrase whispered almost lovingly, Dustfinger moved to the wall and got writing.

R…

He always wrote using capital letters. He always found them easier to read. That was how Resa had taught him, after all…

How could I have done that? He thought. How could have I felt like that for her, for another man's wife, for someone other than Roxane? It had been easy, he realised, looking back. The longer he was in that world, the fuzzier Roxane's face had grown in his memory, and Resa became his sole friend in an unfamiliar land, a land where fire wouldn't speak to him and the earth was covered in concrete instead of moss and trees. Moreover, she was beautiful. I had been so good to finally hear her voice at long last, after speaking to her through her "wooden tongue" for years…he would miss her where he was going. Would she feel the same? Probably. Not that it mattered too much.

O…

Meggie really was growing up to look so much like her mother. Too much, almost. He could almost imagine how Silvertongue must feel about that. _Almost_ imagine; he hadn't been there to see his own daughters grow up, for Brianna to become the beautiful young woman she was now. He missed her childhood years, he missed her change and develop, he missed the death of his youngest, Rosanna…Silvertongue really **did** have a lot to answer to. If it weren't for him and his damn magic, he would have been there through it all. It broke his heart to learn that Brianna hated him, but he wasn't surprised. Gone for ten years, without a word, to then suddenly just appear, as if from thin air? No, he wasn't surprised in the least. It didn't change the fact that it hurt.

X…

But then, he had had Farid with him for a year. The boy, so much like a desperate puppy, always following…so painfully in love, it was amusing to watch…so quick to learn and eager to impress…so cold and dead at his feet. He shuddered at the thought. No, he won't be dead for that much longer. I'll make sure of that, Dustfinger thought, hands still tracing the blazing letters of his love's name. He knew that he loved the boy. He was like the son he never had, a companion to talk to after the nightmares awoke him, someone to teach and converse with. He knew that the boy's death had shattered his heart, and that life wouldn't be the same without him there…he had to do it. Had to. For his sake, for Meggie's sake…poor Meggie. She really did love the boy, just as much as he loved her. The heartbreak in her eyes matched only his own. He had to do it. Perhaps they would look for a way to bring him back? Knowing them, they really would. Or perhaps he could cheat is way home? He didn't know, but he had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time the world would see him.

A…

So why was he afraid? Dustfinger knew this was what he wanted, that he wanted to make this exchange – his life for Farid's. So why was his heart trembling with fear? He felt it deep inside, and he realised he knew the feeling well – he had felt the fear of Death many times in his life. He knew well enough what it was to fear death so much you can practically _see_ it before your eyes, but this time it was worse than ever before. Normally, at times he felt like this, he had used his cunning to disguise it. Valour held no place in his world. Valour got you killed. To survive, you needed to be cunning, to think on the spot and lie through your teeth. Dustfinger had learnt over the years to mask his fear with a façade of bravery, escaping death and harm with a quick idea and a believable tale, told in a confident voice and a straight face. This time, however, there was no use in masking his terror. Perhaps because he knew that this time, he really **was** going to die. He almost laughed. How many times he had cheated death, only to waltz openly into its arms! But this time, it was for a noble cause. It was the kind of death he would have wanted, not the swift, meaningless death that Fenoglio had always planned for him. No, he was going out in a way he wanted to go.

N…

Yes, Dustfinger was ready for it this time. But it didn't change the fact that Roxane would be crushed by what he was going to do. Destroyed. Devastated. By fire and fairies! She had already lost a daughter, and she had already lost one other husband…she had even lost him too, lost to a foreign world he couldn't escape from. How could she live if she lost him for a second time? He felt cruel and heartless, knowing that he was going through with this ridiculous idea whilst knowing how heartbroken she was going to be after he was gone. But he knew he would come back. Not even death could hold him down, not when she was alive. He didn't know how or when, but he was going to keep his promise. He'll find his way back to her, no matter where he was. He loved her, always had, always would, no matter what Death would do to him, no matter where the White Women lead him. He smiled, thinking about her, the stunning beauty that she had always possessed, the way she always knew everything that was going on in his heart and mind, as though she could look right inside him. He loved it all: Her sweet kindness, her sharp tongue, her alluring grace…and her pride. Such fierce pride! Not even a lion could compare to it. Yes, he loved her, more than words could possibly say. And it hurt, knowing how he was going to break her heart yet again, shattering it so soon after she had repaired it…

I hate to do this to her…but I want this. They'll hate the boy, they'll all be crushed…but I want to do this. Roxane…

**E.**

He felt them before her heard them. A White Women, one the daughters of Death, wound her ethereal fingers around his as he stood facing the wall. He swung round to see that more of them were approaching, moving forward to touch him, ghostly hands brushing over his hands, his arms, his face…he felt his earlier fear rise up and constrict around his vocal chords, and he felt even more fearful. What if he couldn't explain what he wanted? What if they just stole him away? But when they made no move to steal him, he swallowed down his dread and made his offer.

"Please…give me back that boy's life, and you can take me in exchange." The White Women looked to the boy on the floor, before looking at each other, whispering in floating voices that made no coherent sense. Eventually, they looked him right in the eye and, without a moments hesitation, all plunged their hands into his chest.

The second their misty hands entered his ribcage, he was overtaken by a chill so extreme, he almost cried out. So cold! Such a breathtaking cold, like none he had ever felt in his life. Perhaps such a chill never could be felt in life? It felt as though he had a lump of ice instead of a heart. It was the cold of death. And as he tried to take in more breath, the icy chill started to spread, like ice water in his arteries, carrying it around from his heart to the rest of his trembling body. First his lungs, them his arms, the pits of his stomach, his mind…the frost took it all, and it was only after his hands – hands that had once commanded absolute heat – had succumbed that he felt his flesh seem to vanish, his blood freezing in place, and he felt, in his painfully numb chest, his heart begin to slow. He almost panicked. No, not that quickly! A few more moments, don't slow down like this…!

But suddenly, the White Women drew back, pulling their arctic hands out of his chest cavity…and he saw his love, his wife, standing there, her face a picture of absolute horror.

**Roxane.**

In those last moments, the precious second he had remaining, he remembered **everything**…the first moment he saw her, how he was captivated by her splendour…how his heart trembled and throbbed with the pains of eternal love…the moment he confessed this pain to her, and she had shown him the contents of her own heart…every second they had spent together flashed before him, and as he caught the sight of Farid moving in his peripheral vision, and his sight dimmed, he smiled. As grief-stricken as she looked, she had never before been s beautiful as she was now. But then his heart, filled with everlasting love, came to a halt, and his knees gave out, and he thought and felt no more. There was only silence and cold for him now. There was nothing but oblivion.


End file.
